


'Cause We Find Ourselves In the Same Old Mess

by its_marchie



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Language Kink, M/M, St. Patrick's Day, being Irish is fantastic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:04:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3600762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_marchie/pseuds/its_marchie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Chill, Dex. We've survived Haus parties, I think I can handle your family.”<br/>Dex snorted as he zipped up the duffel. Nursey was wrong, so wrong, about what this would be like. The only reason Dex could hold his own at Haus parties (and fuck, he was the only person the Haus had seen that could absolutely demolish Lardo at Flip Cup) was because he had survived almost nineteen years surrounded by his borderline insane Irish relatives.</p><p>Or, Nursey spends 24 hours with Dex's insanely large family from Ireland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Cause We Find Ourselves In the Same Old Mess

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to populate the Dex/Nursey tag, so why not do it with some St Patrick's Day tomfoolery? Tomfoolery= unadulterated, uncensored drunk sex between a hipster and a ginger. Huge thanks to Chloe for brainstorming with me and helping me come up with these plot details:  
> -Dex comes from a very Irish family in Bar Harbor and has a very slight Irish accent  
> -The accent is more prominent when he's drunk/tired  
> -He speaks Gaelic (not super fluently, but it's there)  
> -Nursey has a language kink  
> Also, thank you to Ngozi, who is the best and worst person ever for creating this comic that has ruined my life indefinitely.  
> This is still being edited, so please bear with me!  
> Title from "Drunken Lullabies" by Flogging Molly.

          “Okay, Nursey, you’re coming over for spring break, correct?” Dex asked as he shoved an Of Mice & Men tee into his bag.

“Mhm,” Derek responded as he lay on Dex’s roommate’s bed, who had flown out of Boston early that same morning to return to Indiana.

“Saint Patrick’s Day is kind of important in my house. There’s gonna be a shit ton of people and a shit ton of alcohol and I apologise in advance for the damage of your eardrums. Also, don’t wear green; Irish people don’t do that. And, like, I know you think you can handle your alcohol and shit, but if my Aunt Kelly offers you a Jack Rose or a Kilbeggan Sour, PLEASE don’t drink it. Two of those and you’ll be puking all over yourself.”

“Chill, Dex. We’ve survived Haus parties, I think I can handle your family.”

Dex snorted as he zipped up the duffel. Nursey was wrong, _so_ wrong, about what this would be like. The only reason Dex could hold his own at Haus parties (and fuck, he was the only person the Haus had seen that could absolutely demolish Lardo at Flip Cup) was because he had survived almost nineteen years surrounded by his borderline insane Irish relatives. Nursey came from an area where Irish people were in the minority, so Dex was unsure about how much he could handle of his family before he completely lost his chill. Maybe that’s why he and Dex butted heads so much; a hipster from Manhattan and a fiery blue-collar kid from Bar Harbor both were bound to have attitudes, and in a big way. The entire team was practically begging for them to be locked in a room together to sort out their shit. Neither knew that Shitty, Lardo, and Holster had a running bet to see how long it would take before the two freshmen just said "fuck it" and make out.

         

          Dex’s sister picked them up in front of their dorm in her black Laredo that afternoon. Dex could hear Avenged Sevenfold’s new album filtering through the open sunroof as he and Derek made their way to the Jeep toting their overstuffed duffles and backpacks; a quick glance at Nursey and the slight grimace playing on his lips made him smirk as he pulled open the passenger door.

“Hey, Colleen!” Dex yelled over the bass. The brunette instantly lowered the volume on the stereo and wrapped her arms around her younger brother.

“Will! What’s up, man? And who’s this?” She turned her bright green gaze to Nursey, who was playing on his phone.

“Oh, hi, I’m Derek,” he reached out to shake her hand.

“I heard loads about you, Nurse,” she laughed when Nursey’s visage paled.

As the three of them chatted during the long trek back to Maine, Colleen’s phone chimed loudly, alerting her of an incoming call.

“Hello? Christian! _Ça va?”_ -pause- “ _Non, je retournerai la semaine prochaine. Ouais, tu me manques beaucoup_...”

Colleen was tall, not as tall as Dex, but definitely taller than Bitty. She had a couple of forearm tattoos, both script that Nursey couldn’t decipher. She had the same sharp chin, the same broad expanse of freckles that peppered her cheekbones and nose. Hell, she even wore the same expression when she was engaged in deep conversation.

“Your sister speaks French?” Derek whispered as Colleen carried on her animated phone call.

“I’d hope so. She lives in Quebec and is engaged to some Habs player,” Dex shrugged. Nursey choked.

“Holy shit, which one?!”

"Christian...LeClerc? LeClaire? I can't remember."

“Aren’t you all Bruins fans?”

“Yep. Family gatherings are going to be deadly during hockey season.”

          Around dinnertime, they pulled into the driveway of the colonial shrouded in unmelted snow. Derek liked it up here- it was rural, sure, but he felt a certain peace wash over him as he and Dex grabbed their bags out of the trunk and headed inside.

“Billy!” A woman in her fifties with a thick accent threw her arms around Dex, ruffling his hair and kissing his cheek.

“Ma, c’mon,” his face coloured, the blush washing away the freckles that spanned the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry, _leanbh_ ,” Mrs Poindexter released her son and tugged at his flannel, smoothing it out, “Who’s this handsome lad here?” She smiled at Derek, who grinned back.

“Derek. He’s a friend from school and we’re on the team together.”

“Nice to meet-” Derek was cut off by Mrs Poindexter grabbing him in a rib-crushing hug.

“ _Fáilte_! Welcome to our home!” She kissed his cheek before noticing the stove timer was about to go off, “Billy, will you show Derek upstairs while Colleen and I finish the shepherd’s pie?”

Dex grunted a “yes” and led Nursey up the stairs, the knotted pine steps creaking under their sneakers, until they reached Dex’s bedroom. The walls were a seafoam green, barely visible under the plethora of music and movie posters that covered nearly every open space. For someone who passed as anal-retentive about organization and order, his arrangement of Funtak-ed posters on the plaster proved otherwise.

“Not how I pictured your room, dude,” Derek snorted as he dropped his backpack at the foot of Dex’s double bed.

“What, did you think I was totally boring? You really need to stop judging books by their covers, Nurse.”

A couple beats of silence passed before the freshman opened his mouth again.

“Hey Dex, where am I sleeping exactly?”

“Well,” Dex stripped off his sweatshirt, pulling the fabric of his tee up ever so slightly to expose the sharp jut of his hipbone. Derek tried not to stare. “All of the air mattresses we have are gonna be used for my relatives when they come down tomorrow, so you’ll have to share my bed with me. Unless you have a problem with that?”

“No, it’s chill,” Derek responded a little too quickly for his liking. Dex didn’t seem to notice and had focused his attention to unpacking his shirts, all in varying shades of flannel and black.

          “So, Derek, how’s our Will holding up at Samwell?” Mr Poindexter clapped Dex on the back.

“He’s good. I see him almost every day for practice and we hang out and study sometimes,” Derek smiled. He conveniently left out the numerous arguments they’ve engaged in; no need to rile him up, especially when there were five of his family members surrounding him.

“That’s utter shite, mate,” Dex’s fifteen year-old brother chimed in.

“Liam!” Mrs Poindexter hissed.

“Oooooooh, you said a bad word,” his other sister, Evelyn, gasped.

“What? We all know it. Derek just wants to be nice,” the redhead shrugged and turned to the defenceman, “You can admit how much of a pain in the arse he is. I won’t be offended.”

A brief look at Dex confirmed that his face had begun to match his hair. Nursey knew that look, the look he had gotten many a time during practice when they were getting under each other’s skin. Shockingly, the angry flush faded and turned into a sarcastic laugh.

“Whatever,” Dex raised his bottle of Smithwick’s and the rest of the table followed suit, “to spring break. _Slainte!_ ”

They all drank.

“At least your toast was better than the last time you did it in Gaelic. That one was so butchered it might as well have belonged in Uncle Robert’s deli,” Colleen laughed.

 _“Is fearr Gaeilge briste, na Bearla cliste,”_ he sang and stuck out his tongue.

“English, please,” Derek laughed around a mouthful of broccoli. He had to admit, Gaelic rolled off Dex’s tongue like fire; every word was beautiful yet burning and it got Derek in the best and worst way.

“Broken Irish is better than clever English.”

The rest of the table erupted in laughter and commenced the verbal assault of each other; hell, even Mr. and Mrs. Poindexter took turns wounding the egos of their four children.

          Falling asleep was surprisingly easy for Derek. Usually, when he slept in a foreign place for the first night, he got less than the full eight. Dex’s bed was a bit on the firm side, but no less comfortable; it was covered in a thick cotton quilt and a wool blanket that tempted hours of cozy warmth from trapped body heat of two somewhat buzzed college freshmen. Nursey stripped off his pullover and jeans and replaced them with a pair of Every Avenue sweatpants and a thermal shirt. Dex opted for flannel pajama pants and a faded Metallica tee and crawled into bed beside his defenceman.

“So,” Dex yawned, “How was dinner?”

“This was the best dinner I’ve ever been to, man. I love your family,” Derek huffed a laugh. He could practically feel Dex’s smile in the pitch darkness.

“Goodnight, Nursey.”

“Night, Dex.”

_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_

          Derek awoke to a ray of sunshine peeking through Dex’s thick curtains and the faint sound of pots and pans clanking in the kitchen downstairs. Beside him, Dex stirred ever so slightly, curling himself against Derek’s chest. He savoured the moment for only a minute before he realized that _oh my God Dex and I are fucking cuddling_. Derek’s heart rate accelerated and his blood made a quick journey south, which only made him curse more mentally. Dex’s eyes opened, a brilliant amber against the stark contrast of his pale skin and the white sheets.

“Rise and shine, Dex,” Nursey smiled.

“Mmph,” he groaned, burying his face into the pillow.

“C’mon, it’s Saint Patty’s Day! Your family is gonna be here soon.”

One more yawn and a stretch of Dex’s lanky arms and he rolled out of bed, hair sticking up in various places (which was fucking adorable, Derek admitted).

          Downstairs, the kitchen was a flurry of activity and smelled absolutely enticing. Colleen was whipping some form of chocolate dessert, a bottle of Bailey’s next to the large ceramic bowl. The corned beef slow-roasted in the oven while freshly-peeled potatoes sat in a bowl next to a simmering saucepan of water.

“ _Maidin mhaith_ , boys,” Mrs Poindexter smiled as she set two heaping plates of scrambled eggs and sausages in front of them, “And happy Saint Patrick’s Day.”

“Happy Saint Patrick’s Day,” Derek smiled, eyes still bleary from sleep. Dex said nothing and continued shoveling food into his mouth.

“Glad to know someone’s a morning person around here,” Colleen winked.

After the boys finished their breakfast and headed upstairs, Derek was stopped by Evelyn.

“Derek, right?” She asked matter-of-factly.

“Yeah?”

“Are you dating my brother?”

Nursey’s face paled and he wore an expression of pure terror. Was he that obvious? Did he accidentally leave his phone around for a twelve year-old to scroll through the texts he sent to Bitty?

“No.”

“You aren’t? That bites,” Evelyn shook her head disappointedly, her shoulder-length brown hair swooping across her face, “Will is such an idiot. Carry on.”

Derek swore he had never beelined to a room so fast in his entire life.

          “Does this look okay?” Dex asked for the tenth time as he threw his most recent changed shirt into a heap in the corner of the room..

“Bro, chill. It looks fine,” Nursey was sprawled on the bed, scrolling through Instagram. Dex had told him to dress casually, so he opted for a simple heather v-neck baseball tee and black jeans (Nursey avoided the green altogether. But whatever. It’s not like he owned any.)

“You’re not even looking at me, dumbass.”

“What do you want me to-” he glanced to the other side of the room and lost his train of thought. Dex was, to put it in a sappy romantic kind of way, breathtaking. He wore a faded fawn and cream-coloured plaid shirt with a grey vest that hugged his breast ever so slightly and faded grey jeans. Nursey could feel his blood pound through his veins and a blush creep from his cheeks to his collarbone.

“Nursey? Hello?” Dex snapped his fingers.

“Huh?” The other boy shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.

“Is there something wrong with my clothes? You’re kind of staring.”

_Shit._

“No, it looks fine. You look fine.”

“Thanks,” Dex smiled and blushed, “Now I think we should go. It sounds like my family’s here.”

Derek was not prepared for the swarm of people that greeted them at the foot of the stairs.

          Dex was right; the noise level of the Haus seemed like a mere whisper compared to fifty or so loud Irish people in the Poindexters’ now-cramped living room. Derek was introduced to aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, nieces, nephews, and every other relation to Dex they could fit into the old colonial, their accents varying from Newfoundland Canadian to Southie to heavy Irish.

“How many people are here exactly?” Nursey shouted over the din of five separate conversations and classic rock playing through the radio.

“Let’s see, uh...the Malloys, some of the Duffys, the Donnellys, a couple of the O’Callaghans, a few of the Sullivans, Cathy and Robert Dean and their son Seamus,” Dex counted on his fingers, “And the Keaseys were supposed to come but their flight from Florida was cancelled because of storms.”

“You’re really too Irish, Dex,” Nursey laughed as he sipped his beer.

“No such thing, kid!” A man Derek remembered vaguely- Dex’s uncle Ryan? Robert? Ron?- clapped him on the shoulder, “Come on, boys! Time for Jameson!”

          Jameson, as it turns out, was a bad fucking idea.

Dex had lost his vest somewhere in the sea of brunettes and redheads and ended up atop the mahogany coffee table with his cousin Brianna and her older brother Conor, arms around each other and singing “Whiskey In the Jar.” Derek was also intoxicated, giggling as he watched his d-partner drunkenly shout out the lyrics and sway side to side. After their slurred rendition, Dex stepped off and stumbled to Nursey’s side, toting a shot glass.

“How’re yeh?” Dex swayed.

“Drunk,” Derek laughed, “Dude, did your accent get, like, heavier?”

“It does that, ‘specially when I’m schlossed. Hey, have I told you you’re like, really pretty? Class A.”

“What?” Nursey’s flush now had nothing to do with his current level of intoxication. Dex leaned in closer, his mouth just centimeters away from the shell of his ear.

“Beautiful,” he pressed his lips to the sensitive skin just below Derek’s ear. He may have been piss drunk, but Derek’s dick was definitely interested. He was acutely aware that Dex’s fucking _family_ surrounded him and it wouldn’t be in his best interest to pop a boner in front of people he literally just met.

“Upstairs. We need to go upstairs,” he breathed, tugging on Dex’s plaid button-down. The redhead nodded and followed Nursey up the stairs and into his room, slamming the door behind them.

          The two stumbled to Dex’s bed, each grasping on to whatever clothing they could get their hands on. Dex rolled from Nursey’s side on the bed to straddle his thighs, kissing Nursey with sloppy but present persistence and _want_. Derek wouldn’t lie to himself; he’d imagined this scenario a hundred times over in a hundred different ways- during a Haus rager, after an epic and hard-fought win, shouting at the Bruins game on TV while crammed on Dex’s suite sofa. But he never imagined this, laying on Dex’s bed at his fucking house while Dex leaned over him and sucked hickeys the size of fucking Ireland itself on his collarbones. He should’ve expected him to be a biter. Dex had a special way of using his mouth whether it be to yell at Nursey or speak a language Nursey couldn’t learn even if he tried.

“Dex, are you sure you’re up for this?” Derek stammered as Dex pressed open-mouthed kisses down his clothed chest.

“Hm?” He made direct eye contact and fuck his fucking life those piercing amber eyes.

“You’re shitfaced. I’m shitfaced. Is this okay?”

“I wanna suck your dick and you’re asking me if it’s okay?” Dex smirked. Derek let out a low, heavy groan that resonated from the back of his throat.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Just- just trying to be thorough- oh my God,” Derek sighed as Dex mouthed at the crotch of his jeans.

“Let’s get these off,” Dex fumbled with the zipper, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear the drunken haze clouding his mind. Another minute or so passed before he successfully unzipped Derek’s jeans and slid them down his legs and off, discarding them in the heap with Dex’s shirt. Nursey’s toes curled as his d-partner mouthed at the fabric of his boxer briefs, only a thin layer between his dick and the wet heat of Dex’s mouth.

“Your thighs are glorious. And huge. Like, they’re full of secrets.”

“Thanks,” Derek managed a laugh at Dex’s drunkenly awed tone.

“I wanna hear those secrets.”

Dex yanked thee boxer briefs past Derek’s knees, his dick hard and flush against his abs. The redhead wasted no time in mouthing at the head, earning a gasp from the taller man.

“Fucking fuck, do that again,” he let out a whine as Dex did something truly sinful with his tongue. Precome painted Dex’s lower lip as he leaned to press a kiss to Derek’s lower abdomen, feeling the muscles there quiver beneath his lips. When Dex took Derek into his mouth in one swift movement, Derek almost forgot his lungs existed. His throat felt fucking amazing and apparently his legs thought so too, because his thighs clenched under Dex’s palms. The ginger’s stare locked on to Derek’s half-lidded stormy grey eyes and he could feel his climax building, a warm heat pooling just below his navel.

“Dex- I’m close-”

Dex pulled off, replacing his mouth with his bony fingers, and crowded Derek’s face with his own, that evil shit-eating grin playing at his obscenely swollen lips.

 _“Ta tu go halainn,_ ” he whispered and Derek was fucking done. He dug his heels into the mattress as he came, a guttural moan escaping his lips before Dex silenced him with another kiss.

“Didn’t know you had a thing for Gaelic, Nurse.”

“Me neither. Now lay back,” Nursey instructed. Dex was more than happy to oblige.

         He had no idea how amazing five o'clock shadow felt on his skin. Nursey was less aggressive than Dex had been previously, leaving gentle kisses where he had left bite marks and hickies. Derek was almost like the poetry he read and often quoted- each intimate movement flowed slowly and seamlessly into the next and it drove Dex up a wall. Then again, they had at least four hours until sunrise and by the looks of it, Derek was going to take all of that time.

“Can we hurry this up, please?” Dex huffed, his freckled chest rising with a sigh.

“Bossy, bossy,” Derek chuckled, but kissed his friend firmly, strong hands flexing around his hips. Next to go were Dex’s boxers, Green Day ones that read “Kiss me, I’m punk.”

“I thought you said no green.”

“Fuck you.  _Chríost,_ ” he hissed as Derek slid Will’s dick into the warmth of his mouth. Dex could feel Nursey’s stubble occasionally rubbing against the soft skin of his thighs, a sensation that was too much and not enough all at once. He could say a million things, like how good Derek felt, or how he pictured being covered in beard burn while he jerked off, but he kept his mouth shut as he felt his abdomen quiver and tense.

“Nursey, I’m gonna come,” he warned, but Derek just smirked and took him deeper. And then, he did something that caught Dex totally off guard: he twined their fingers together.

“ _Derek_ ,” the name came out as no more than a strangled whisper, a plea, as Dex was brought to his climax, his freckled torso rising and falling quickly with every heaved breath. Derek’s throat worked around him, swallowing his come and pulling off when Dex’s grip in the sheets released.

“Shit. We just had sex,” Dex breathed.

“How’s that for chemistry, Shitty?” Derek laughed from beside his fellow defenceman. The redhead turned to face Nursey and kissed him again, a soft and tired slide of lips working in sync.

“I guess that it really does exist,” Nursey laughed as he clicked off the bedside lamp.

“What’re you talking about?”

“The luck of the Irish.”

With a playful punch to the shoulder, Dex fell asleep curled at Nursey’s side. The pale light of the waxing crescent moon filtered in through the same gap between the curtains and cast on a sliver of Dex’s face, making it glow like freshly-glazed ceramic. Derek knew he wasn’t Irish, but he fell asleep almost wishing, in some ironic way, that he was.

_!_!_!_!_!_!_!_

          The Maine air was thick with fog, shrouding the house in a mist that softened the glow of sunlight high above the horizon. Dex, surprisingly, was the first one to wake up. His head felt full of bricks and his mouth had gone cotton dry, increasing the urge to roll out of bed and crawl to grab his water bottle atop his dresser. The warmth of Nursey on his back grounded him, persuaded him to stay underneath the covers flush against his d-man’s front. Derek must’ve felt Dex shift because he could feel a set of muscular arms squeeze around his midsection.

“Morning,” Dex yawned.

“Hey,” Derek nestled his face into the crook of his neck and sighed.

“So, about last night…”

“Please don’t tell me you’re gonna give me the whole “I’m a good Catholic boy and it was a mistake” speech."

Dex whipped around to face Derek, his gaze desperate and frustrated.

“No, asshole. I was gonna say that we should fucking do it again.”

“Oh.” Derek really felt like an asshole. An uncomfortable silence settled between them and Derek blinked slowly as if to clear his thoughts.

“Can we just, like, lay here for a bit without fighting?”

“Sure, Dex. We can do that.”

The redhead rested his head next to Derek’s chest, feeling his heart beat slowly and steadily and falling into sync with Dex’s breathing.

He didn’t mention it, but Derek hoped that this would last well beyond spring break.

****  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Dex's family is as follows:  
> -Mr Poindexter- American, born in Vermont  
> -Mrs Poindexter- Irish, born just outside of Galway, Ireland (Galway= coastal town in western Ireland)  
> -Colleen Poindexter- 25 years old, born in Massachusetts when Mr+Mrs P returned from Ireland  
> -Dex- 18 years old, born in Maine  
> -Liam Poindexter- 15 years old, born in Maine, regularly visits relatives (why he has more of an accent)  
> -Evelyn Poindexter- 12 years old, born in Maine
> 
> French and Gaelic glossary/translation guide:  
> "Ça va?" (Fr.)- general greeting, literally "it goes"  
> "je retournerai la semaine prochaine" (Fr.)- "I will return next week"  
> "Tu me manques beaucoup" (Fr.)- "I miss you a lot"  
> "Fáilte!" (Gc.)- "Welcome!" (used as greeting)  
> "leanbh" (Gc.)- "my child"  
> "Slainte!" (Gc.)- a toast, literally "Health!"  
> "Is fearr Gaeilge briste, na Bearla cliste" (Gc.)- "Broken Irish is better than clever English"  
> "Maidin mhaith" (Gc.)- "good morning"  
> "Ta tu go halainn" (Gc.)- "You are beautiful"


End file.
